#my sensory issues are telling me the layers would be a nightmare but i really wanna do this! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

Text

is this all i have?

^ hey all, a little different fic I have for you today.

If you decide to read it, it’ll give you some insight into why I haven’t been posting a lot ... it says more than I probably would normally share about my struggles but @genshin-karebear encouraged me to be honest and, so, here I am. (thank you, friend)

Warnings -> negative self-talk, comfort, one curse word

I sat at my desk, head in my hands and tears on the verge of spilling over the edges of my eyes. For days I’d been struggling, frantically, painfully trying to get back into the swing of things with nothing to show for it other than tear stained clothes and empty pieces of paper.

Where did it all go? Where was the spark that used to ignite in my heart when I sat down to write the words which once came so easy? Am I spent, have I used up all that skill in a matter of months … what’s wrong with me.

A single tear cascaded down my cheek as I stared at the massive nothingness that lay before me. The taunting paper which looked back at like a score card of failures after failures, as if to remind me that I will never be a person worthy of it’s time. I rubbed my eyes, pushing my glasses over my brow and feeling the hot liquid which rested in them, this would be the tenth time I’ve done this today.

“I’m just spent and I don’t know what I’m going to do anymore.” My lip quivered, my cheeks became wet, my eyes blurry. “I’m a failure.” I whispered to myself shaking my head and holding onto the last ounce of energy I could muster - it didn’t matter that the sun was warm and shined through my window, there was nothing strong enough to push through my veil of despair.

I looked out the window and saw the world move on around me; it never waits, while it pushes on I’m left behind. The trees continue to spread out their leaves in an attempt to soak up the necessary nutrients they need to survive, seeds float on the wind looking for a place to rest, bugs move from place to place at random, the cat lounges on the chair lost in its dreams as its fur is warmed by the sun I cannot seem to feel. I’m jealous of that cat.

I contemplate getting up and doing something different, but there is a voice inside of me that tells me to push through, to keep going and write something - put anything down on this piece of paper. Fuck you, paper … you are nothing to me and yet you have total control over my pen. I’m angry and frustrated at an inanimate object when I should really be mad at myself. It’s my fault I cannot get anything out --- I’m broken, that must be the only answer.

The tears have all fallen, water droplets speckle the parchment and my eyes look onward without any ounce of life left. I feel empty and hollow, I have no more energy for it all and so I lay down the pen, drop my head to the table and close my eyes.

I don’t know how long I sit like this, time has been moving so slowly for me as of late that this feels like nothing new. I don’t even hear the sound of the door opening, or footsteps headed my way. In fact, I barely register there is another presence in the room until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Hazel?” I stir, but only enough to turn my head onto its side and glance at the person who called me by name, a name I didn’t feel I had the right to claim. I looked up and felt my stomach drop, of course it would be him … the one person who I continued to fail over and over again. “Are you okay?”

I bit the inside of my lip, desperate to keep my emotions in check. I hated looking weak, and complaining about my frustrations only made me feel worse. These worries and inadequacies are my own issues to deal with, there was no need to drag others down into my sorrow, so I changed the subject.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.” I leaned up from the desk and turned myself to face him. Instinctually, I placed my hand on the blank paper, an attempt to hide my shame.

“Yes, there wasn’t much for me to do, it seemed everyone had it under control and I didn’t see a need to stick around.” He placed a few items down on the table in the study. It was some of the only sounds which broke the monotony of my day. “… did I disturb your work?”

“No, I only just started.” I lied, grinning to add another layer to my coverup.

“Oh, normally you get started much earlier than this …” His observation was accurate, even if it stung a little. He was right after all, I’d been sitting at this desk since we parted ways earlier in the morning … I felt chained to it, obligated to do something worthwhile at this god forsaken wooden nightmare.

“Normally, yes. I just, uh, had some things to get done before this …”

“Well I’m sure you are eager to get started, I’ll leave you to it.” He looked down at me kindly, and I yearned to have more than just his words and kind eyes at the moment, but I knew it wouldn’t be possible to ask that of him.

“Sounds good, I’ve got a lot of ideas and think I can get some good stuff done today.” Another lie.

“I believe you will.” He looked at me and my brain screamed. It battled between the side of reaching for him and letting him go. As busy as he was, he didn’t need to be bothered by my struggles. So, in an effort to keep them under control I pushed my knuckles to the small space between my chin and lips, the nail of my index finger digging into the corner of my mouth for extra sensory support. I smiled weakly at him and watched as he made his way through the threshold, disappearing beyond my line of sight. When the door closed I stood from my chair and walked to the window, my hand extended to capture the rays of the sun which normally brought me comfort, but today only illuminated my skin.

The emotions bubbled up in my chest and, like a sad child who didn’t get what they wanted, I removed my glasses, dropped my head into my hand and cried. Soft, quiet sobs spilled from my mouth while my eyes remained shielded by the darkness of my hand. Something caught my attention and as soon as I allowed my vision to adjust to the source, dark cloth and a flash of red envelope me.

“What …?”

“I knew something wasn’t right.” His voice was so soothing, his arms tight around my body, his chest inviting and the way his hand spread across my back ... it all meshed perfectly together. “For days, you’ve been acting strange … I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“What .. what are you talking about ..?” my voice was strained, telling of my emotions, and still I tried to push through. “I’m fine, I-I just got something in my eye.”

“You know you can be honest with me.”

“I know …”

“So, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“This isn’t something to worry you over.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulled back so he could look at me and I was glad my glasses were still off. I couldn’t bear to see him clearly right now. “Something is clearly weighing on you, how could I not offer my support?

“It’s stupid, and I just need to get over it.”

“If it makes you feel this way, then whatever problem you have isn’t stupid.” He pressed, and his words, combined with the closeness of him, was starting to break my resolve. I didn’t want to put anything else on his shoulders … I didn’t want to appear weak … I didn’t want to be a failure.

“I’m … struggling.” He didn’t let me go or say anything, which made me fill the silence with my own pitiful words.

“I’ve been trying for days to get something, anything out and every time I do the words don’t flow like they did. I’m worried … did I write all that I’m ever going to write. What if I can’t do it anymore … what if this is all I have …” The tears began to slip down my cheeks, some found a home in the bend of my lips and filled my mouth with the taste of salt. I shook my head and bit my tongue, this is stupid, I’m acting like a child. I tried to push away from him but he only tightened his grip. “God, there are so many more important things to be upset about, and here I am whining about something so petty.”

“When was the last time you took a break? Perhaps, that may help?”

“I’ve done that … I’ve taken such a long break -- I-I don’t want to take a break anymore. Why is this so hard.” I felt the pressure of my brows as they moved closer to one another, the bending of my nose as I scrunch my face out of frustration. “I’m wasting time and people are waiting on me … how long can I ask them to wait … how long do I deserve their patience …”

“Has anyone pushed you to work faster than you can?”

I parted my lips and ran my tongue over the back of my teeth, “No … but I can’t expect them to wait forever. There’s gotta be something wrong with me, right? That’s the only explanation I have at this point. I’m not good at it anymore … I’m worried and stressed and ... just ... so sad.”

His hands slipped around my arms, one resting against my shoulder and the other cupping my face. “I know this feels like an impassable obstacle, but you haven’t lost anything … you just need to give it time.”

“Haven’t I done that?”

“You told me you’ve been in here trying to force yourself everyday, have you really taken time to rest?” I shrugged my shoulders and shifted my eyes away from him.

“You don’t take breaks either …” I mumbled, my words were an effort to get even and show him how the suggestion was nothing but a silly statement that had no meaning.

“Maybe, I should.” I didn’t want to look at him, but I could tell his tone had grown more thoughtful. He let his hands fall to my wrist, the feeling of his glove against my skin was somehow comforting. “Come with me.” He gripped tightly and led me through the door of the study faster than I could protest. We walked down the stairs, confused maids and staff staring at us as we blew by them before leaving through the heavy doors of the winery and onto the dirt path which held endless possibilities of destinations. I protested, but there was no escaping his grip and, soon, all my effort was on keeping up with his pace.

When I thought I couldn’t take another step we stopped, he released my hand and with him no longer keeping me upright, I fell into the grass below me, my arms sprawled outward. I breathed in deeply and relished the feeling of the wind against my face.

“It’s been a long time since I moved that quickly.”

“How do you feel?”

“Let me get back to you on that… ” I laughed and rested my hand against my chest, the beating of my heart pounding there as I tried to breathe with hot lungs.

I looked up at the sky, the vastness of it stealing my vision and removing anything else. My skin was tickled by the blades of grass that brushed against it, and I watched as a small bee flew over my face his swaying movement mesmerizing. When was the last time I was outside like this… it felt like such a long time ago.

I stretched my hand toward the sky above me, the blue color peeking through my spread fingers, my palm cutting off the fuzzy clouds that moved lazily along. His face came into view and I realized I had yet to put my glasses back on.

He bent down to meet me, his back falling into the grass at my side, hair following the pull of gravity and spreading out in the grassy hill.

“I can’t believe you are laying in the grass.” I chuckled and dropped my hand back onto my chest, turning my head to look at him.

“I’m known to have a few surprises up my sleeve.” He responded, turning his head to look at me, the light from above gracing his face and somehow only making him even more beautiful than he already was. It was so blinding that I had to look away.

“Hah, well, color me impressed.” For the first time in days, I feel a small reprieve from the darkness which had seeped into my skin. Something internal began to tingle, starting from my fingertips and slowly up my arms and as I took in a deep breath the smell of sweet flowers filled my nose. “Thank you, Diluc.”

He reached for the hand which was moving back and forth above the grass at my side, his strong, large grip providing protection and comfort, and for the first time in days, the feeling of warmth.

“Promise to tell me next time you are struggling; don’t hide away alone.”

“I’ll do my best.”

---

I feel much like Kiki did in Kiki’s Delivery Service ... how can I fly again when I feel so ... bleh

I’ll keep trying, all <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #self insert #genshin self insert #diluc #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact diluc #hazelsmusings

88 notes · View notes

agerefandom · 4 years ago

Text

Something Wrong

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Regressor!Katsuki Bakugou (aka. Kacchan), worried!Izuku Midoriya (aka. Deku), worried!Shouta Aizawa (aka. Sensei), caregiver!Eijiro Kirishima, and the rest of 1A as background characters

Words: 4,000

Summary: Izuku notices Kacchan regressing in class and makes the mistake of following him when he leaves, intending to try and help.

Content warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. Dissociation. Trauma. Bullying. Prevented (unintentional) self-harm. Self-neglect. Physical abuse. Verbal abuse. Mild burns. Blood. This fanfiction raises many questions and issues and doesn’t necessarily solve all of them, although everyone receives physical care by the end.

Author’s Note: Please note the content warnings and exercise caution when reading. I just finished the third season of My Hero Academia, and I have many emotions about the way the relationship between Katsuki and Izuku is handled by both the writers and the characters in the show. I’m also aware that their dynamic is a popular one in the fandom, and thus something I might be asked to write when I open requests again. This story was my attempt at figuring out how I felt about that. (Conclusion: I’m willing to write regressor!Katsuki with other caregivers, but not with Izuku, and vice-versa. I promise my regressor!Katsuki fics will not all be this angsty. I just had to get this one out of my system.)

Something was wrong with Kacchan today.

Izuku spent a lot of time looking at Kacchan from day to day, since the taller boy’s head blocked his view of half the blackboard. Even in Junior High, Izuku found himself often watching Kacchan from the back of the class. He was always in motion: his leg bouncing and his fingers tapping on the sides of his desk.

Here in 1-A, many of the students had trouble sitting still. The classroom was always alive with the shifting of fabric and clicking of pens, and any students with sensory problems had to wear sound blockers when trying to get work done (Izuku himself took advantage of that sometimes, although it made his tendency to mumble a little worse).

Today, though, something about Kacchan’s tapping fingers was different. They wouldn’t stay on the desk. He kept lifting his hand to his face, tapping them against his jawline and then around to his mouth. Izuku couldn’t see what Kacchan was doing, but he knew that the other boy had often teased him for biting his fingernails in Junior High (Aww, are you sucking your thumb, Deku? I always knew you were just a baby!) so surely Kacchan wouldn’t have the same habit. And even more strangely, Kacchan kept whipping his hand down and away from his face, keeping it frozen at his side for a few minutes before his fingers started tapping against his leg and the entire cycle would restart.

There were other signs, too: Kacchan wasn’t taking notes, Izuku’s view of his notebook around his shoulder confirming that he was just scribbling random lines across the pages. As careless as Kacchan seemed, he was a good student, and his friends often asked to copy his notes. There must be something wrong, Izuku knew it.

Maybe he didn’t sleep well last night? Izuku knew that Kacchan had been having trouble sleeping since the kidnapping. He started playing loud music at all hours and snapping at anyone who asked him to turn it down, even Kirishima and Kaminari. Eventually, they had to bother Aizawa about it, and Kacchan had been threatened with his sound system being confiscated. That seemed to stop the noise, at least when it was lights-out. But Izuku could still hear him pacing sometimes.

Most of the class had nightmares about their various villain encounters, and insomnia meetups were a regular occurrence in the dormitory common rooms. It had been nice to find out that the others had been struggling to sleep since everything started. Izuku had originally assumed he was alone in the experience. Calming down after a nightmare was easier with Denki chattering about the game he was playing or Koda’s quiet presence sharing the space.

But Kacchan never came out of his room to join the others when he couldn’t sleep, and only the distant sounds of pacing and the darkening circles under his eyes allowed Izuku to notice when he was doing worse.

Shoot, Izuku had started missing some of Aizawa-sensei’s lecture because he was so distracted by Kacchan. He turned his attention back to his notes, scribbling desperately to catch up with the lecture slide before it changed. He could always borrow notes from Tenya, of course, but he didn’t like to bother his friends about things like that.

Izuku snuck another glance up and saw that Kacchan’s fingers were back up to his mouth. His head was tilted slightly down, as if he were looking at his notebook, but his pencil wasn’t moving.

Was Kacchan asleep, maybe? That wouldn’t last long: for all of Aizawa-sensei’s naps, he didn’t tolerate students falling asleep in lecture, his capture weapon quick to pull a napping student’s chair out from under them.

Just as Izuku started to worry, there was a harsh shriek of metal against floor as Kacchan pushed himself to his feet.

“Bathroom,” Kacchan blurted, and stalked for the door with his shoulders a tense line.

Confusion and worry warred in Izuku’s stomach, and he was standing before he could think twice about it.

“Same, yeah, bathroom,” Izuku said, and speed-walked out of the room before Aizawa could remind him that only one student was allowed to leave the class at a time, according to school rules.

The hall was empty, which meant that Kacchan must have taken off running as soon as he’d left the class.

Izuku paused as the door closed behind him, considering his options. There was a possibility that Kacchan had abandoned class entirely and gone back to the dorms, but he probably would have taken his backpack with him if that was the case. Usually, Kacchan went straight for the training rooms when he was upset, but they would be in use by classes right now.

In the absence of a better idea, Izuku decided to check the nearest bathroom and see if Kacchan had been telling the truth.

Izuku’s shoes squeaked quietly against the hallway as he approached the door to the boy’s bathroom and pushed it open. The sound gave him away, but he distinctly heard a gasp, followed by a sharp sniffle.

“Kacchan?” Izuku called out, letting the door close behind him.

There was no answer. Izuku walked fully into the bathroom, easily picking out the stall that Kacchan was hiding in. It was the only one with the door closed, but Izuku could see that Kacchan had pulled up his feet to avoid being seen. Something was definitely wrong, he’d never known Kacchan to be this desperate to hide.

“Kacchan, are you okay? Are you sick?” Izuku approached the door, straining his ears. He could hear Kacchan’s breathing, familiar from the years they had spent together.

“Fuck off, Deku,” Kacchan snapped.

Izuku could hear the tears in his voice, and something like curiosity unfurled in his chest. He hadn’t seen Kacchan cry in years. Izuku was the crybaby, and Kacchan was the one who got to tease him for it. What was going on?

“What’s wrong?” Izuku leaned against the line of sinks, staying in front of the stall. “Did something happen?”

“I told you to go away!” Kacchan shouted. “Nothing’s wrong, you idiot. Fuck off!”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Izuku told the stall door. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he would get to the bottom of this. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Deku…”

Izuku could hear the warning in that growl, but he ignored it. Just as he always did.

“Come on, Kacchan.” Izuku tried a softer voice. “It’s okay! I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Kacchan started to laugh, and something in Izuku’s stomach twisted. That wasn’t a good sound. It was strangled and getting louder, the tears abandoned for hysterical cackles. Izuku shifted to standing, but stayed in front of the stall. Maybe he was getting somewhere?

Sure enough, the lock clicked open, and the door swung inwards to reveal Kacchan.

Kacchan was standing on the floor now, his uniform even more rumpled that usual. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears still streaking his cheeks.

“You? Make fun of me?” he managed between the harsh laughter. “Deku, you wish.”

Kacchan stepped forwards, and Izuku knew what was going to happen only a second before his hand wrapped around Izuku’s neck and pushed him back into the line of sinks. Pain shot up through Izuku’s spine from where the edge of the counter hit his back. Kacchan didn’t stop pushing, forcing Izuku’s head to lean back against the mirror behind him.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Always rushing in, Izuku lectured himself, closing his eyes to avoid the furious expression on Kacchan’s face. He had only wanted to help, but he knew Kacchan, and knew that he was at his most dangerous when he felt vulnerable. Why had he put himself in danger?

Force of habit, said a cynical voice in the back of Izuku’s head.

“You don’t listen, huh? Everyone thinks you’re so smart, but you and me know different.” Kacchan’s hand wasn’t pressing hard enough to cut off Izuku’s airflow, but he could feel his quirk starting to heat up the air between them, the sting of a thousand sparks jumping from Kacchan’s palm. Not enough to hurt, not really enough to leave burns, just a red mark that would fade in a few hours. Izuku kept his eyes closed. Kacchan had set off one of those tiny sparks in his eye once, and Izuku had needed an eyepatch for a whole week. Of course, Izuku had spent that time pretending to be Peg Leg the Pirate Hero, but it had still hurt.

“I was worried,” Izuku managed, bringing up his hand to try and tug Kacchan’s wrist away. Kacchan intercepted the attempt, making a tight fist around Izuku’s hand.

“Worried about me? You should worry about yourself, pipsqueak. You know I can take care of myself.” Pop pop went the tiny sparking explosions, starting to hurt the tender skin on the underside of Izuku’s chin. Those little burns could layer up and get painful eventually.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I know.”

“Do you? Do you really, Deku? Then why did you follow me?” Kacchan shouted, and Izuku felt spittle hit his cheeks.

“I don’t know!”

Izuku pushed out with his free hand, and was surprised when Kacchan’s grip on his throat subsided, the other boy stumbling back. He opened his eyes and saw his hands sparking, the power of One For All coming to his defense.

Kacchan had only been pushed a few steps back, and he was grinning now.

“You want to fight, shitty Deku? That why you followed me here?” The same little sparks were going off in Kacchan’s palms, flashes of light that made Izuku’s throat ache just watching them. At least they were away from his skin now.

“I don’t want to fight.” Izuku dismissed One For All, feeling the buzzing energy dissipate from his body. Kacchan’s cheeks were still blotchy, his eyes wild, and Izuku couldn’t bring himself to get on the offensive against him. “I’ll leave if you want.”

“Oh, no,” Kacchan hissed. “You had your chance to leave, but you just had to see me, huh? Wanted to gloat some more. Are you happy now, Deku? Want to rub it in?”

“I… no!” Izuku waved his hands in front of his face, feeling his eyes widen. “I’m not gloating! What? Why would I be happy that you’re sad?”

One moment, Kacchan was glaring down at Izuku with sparking palms, and then his face suddenly crumpled. His eyes closed, and he curled inwards, his quirk turning off as his hands went to grip his elbows. “Fuck,” Kacchan muttered. Izuku was close enough to hear his breathing hitch. “FUCK!” he shouted, and brought his hands up to his face, sparks flying again, this time against his own skin. It didn’t affect him, of course, his skin resistant to his own fire, but Izuku automatically started forwards. Kacchan’s eyes were still vulnerable, and he could damage himself.

The movement caught Kacchan’s attention. His head snapped up again, and Izuku could see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Deku?” Kacchan asked, and he sounded… confused.

“Y-yeah, it’s me,” Izuku said. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t-” Kacchan shook his head, bringing his hands up to his face again.

“Careful!” Izuku stepped forward and caught his hands, keeping the sparking palms away from Kacchan’s eyes, even as the tiny explosions started to burn Izuku’s fingers. “Kacchan, what’s wrong?”

Kacchan had frozen under Izuku’s touch, but Izuku could feel his hands shaking.

“What’s wrong?” he echoed, and his voice sounded wrong. Tense and tight and young. “What’s wrong with me, Deku?”

“It’s okay,” Izuku said. “You’re okay. It’s just anxiety, I think. Just breathe, okay?”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

Izuku didn’t see the attack coming this time, as he was pushed back against the mirrors for a second time. This time, the push was less controlled, and he felt the back of his head hit the mirror with a cracking noise. Hopefully, that was the glass.

“Kacchan!” Izuku reached out, trying to grab his shoulders. “It’s just me, it’s okay.”

“Shut up!! Stop trying to… COMFORT ME!” Kacchan shouted, and backhanded Izuku across the face. The sharpness of the pain made Izuku gasp, but it was easy enough to bring his head back up. “I don’t need your help! I told you to leave!” And Kacchan hit him again. “I told you to leave me alone!”

This is familiar.

The sour smell of the bathroom, the hard line of the counter pressing into Izuku’s spine, and the surrender to the pain of blows to his face. Usually, it had been Kacchan with a number of other boys, two of them holding Izuku’s arms, but Kacchan had never really needed the physical backup. Izuku was helpless enough on his own. Quirkless, couldn’t even stand up to a friend. Couldn’t stand up to one person. The burns, the bruises, the feeling of floating above himself as the pain became sharper yet somehow more distant.

I’ve been here before.

Izuku couldn’t remember the first time Kacchan hit him. He felt like it should have been a turning point in their relationship, like it should have made him see the other boy differently. But Kacchan had always liked to hit people. Like heroes, he said, practicing his Detroit Smash on all his friends. Like heroes, he said, when he tied Izuku upside-down and left him for the teachers to find. He just wanted to be like a hero, and heroes talked with their fists.

Izuku could feel tears on his cheeks as blood filled his mouth, but he hated the tears more than the copper taste on his tongue. He hated that crying had always been his first line of defense. When he was excited, when he was sad, even when he was angry, he could barely speak through the tears that rose up and choked him. It was just more for Kacchan to mock, calling him a baby, calling him weak, calling him useless.

I’ve never been anywhere else.

Izuku couldn’t tell if Kacchan was using his quirk or just his fists. The sharp impacts felt the same at first whether his hands were on fire or not, the heat of the pain blocking out the deeper burns. He would only know later how bad the damage was, whether he would need to hide his face on his way back to the dorms.

It was a shock when the punches stopped.

Izuku stayed where he was, leaning back against the counter. He didn’t know if he could move if he tried. His arms felt numb, his face stinging, and his head was distantly aching. He could see through his eyes, but it felt like he was watching from a long way away as he watched Kacchan draw back and wipe his eyes.

They had both been crying this time. That was unusual.

What happened next was even more unusual.

“I’m sorry,” Kacchan whispered, then turned and walked out of the bathroom.

There was silence.

Izuku drew in the first breath he was aware of, and stood up. It hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. He turned and saw the splintered mirror behind him, blood streaking down it. Head wound. That explained the warmth soaking the back of his school uniform. They always bled a lot. He could see the shattered pieces of his reflection, a red puffy face and tears still rolling down his cheeks. It would be a few hours before the burns and bruises really become visible. For now, he was just red all over, as if he’d gotten a bad sunburn. By tomorrow, everything would be a rainbow of white and red and green-red-brown, but for now… it didn’t look so bad.

Izuku limped out of the bathroom and walked towards his class as quickly as he could manage. He knew he would disrupt the lecture, he knew the broken mirror would be charged to his mother, he knew it was going to suck to open the door, but it didn’t matter. He needed help.

Sure enough, Izuku pushed the door open and was met with a collective gasp from the class.

Aizawa was kneeling in front of Izuku before he knew what was happening, his hands resting gently on Izuku’s shoulders.

“Were you attacked?” Aizawa demanded, his eyes flickering over Izuku’s face and back to the door he’d walked through.

Izuku ignored his teacher, shrugging under Aizawa’s hands and dragging himself towards the person he came for.

“Kirishima,” Izuku said. “You need to find Kacchan, he’s really upset and I’m worried about him. I think he might be in danger. He wouldn’t listen to me, but… maybe you can help.”

Kirishima’s face swam in Izuku’s vision, shocked and concerned.

“Did he… are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Izuku smiled. “Please just find Kacchan.”

“O-okay?” Kirishima said, and Izuku stepped out of the way to let him leave.

“Deku!” Ochaco’s hands were the next to land on Izuku’s shoulders, less carefully than their teacher. Izuku fought the urge to flinch and smiled at her. “Did Bakugou do this? Are you okay? Oh my god, you’re bleeding a lot…”

“It’s just a head wound,” Izuku explained. “They bleed a lot.”

“Do you have a concussion?” That was Tenya in front of him now. With how much his vision was swimming, it probably was a concussion.

“Don’t worry!” Izuku said, trying to wave them off, but then Tsuyu was also in front of him, looking worried. “I’m okay! I’m sorry for interrupting the lesson!”

“He looks like he’s gonna pass out,” Denki commented.

“I’m not going to pass out!” Izuku said. “I’m fine!” He had a concussion, sure, but he’d gone to class with a concussion before. He would probably miss most of the notes, but that was okay. He could catch up later. “I need to text Kirishima…”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Aizawa was there again, looming over Izuku’s classmates. Izuku winced, dropping his eyes to the ground. He was definitely going to get in trouble. “Everyone, back to your seats. Stop crowding him.” Izuku moved to obey, but Aizawa’s hand blocked him. “Not you, Midoriya, stay where you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” He risked a glance upwards and saw Aizawa’s unreadable expression, his mouth more downturned than usual. “I should have… I thought I could help. I’m sorry.”

“You’re a hero, Midoriya,” Aizawa sighed, and Izuku had never heard anyone say the word ‘hero’ with so much weight. It didn’t sound like a compliment. “Of course you thought you could help. Can you walk to Recovery Girl, or should I carry you?”

“I can walk, sir! But I really don’t need to visit Recovery Girl. She… doesn’t want to see me anymore.” Izuku winced, thinking back to all the times she had threatened to stop treating his injuries if he didn’t stop visiting so often.

“That isn’t her decision,” Aizawa said in a tone that allowed no argument. “Her job is to treat our students. And my job is to protect them. Now, for the rest of you, I expect you to behave while I’m gone. Start any more trouble and you will be expelled when I return. I’m not lying this time.”

From the dead silence that met his words, no one doubted him.

“Come on, Midoriya.” A hand was offered, wavering in Izuku’s reluctant vision. It took him two attempts to accept the hand, his depth perception all but gone. Eventually, though, Aizawa’s fingers wrapped around his, and Izuku was led out into the hallway. Aizawa’s grip was gentle, but Izuku could still feel the callouses on his fingers and palm, the marks of a lifetime of hero work.

It was easy to focus on that warm sensation as Izuku stumbled down the hallway after Aizawa’s long-legged strides, his head spinning.

“I really am sorry, Aizawa-sensei.”

“Save it until it’s time to tell your story,” Aizawa told him. “I won’t make you go over it while you have a concussion, but we’ll talk after.”

“Okay,” Izuku said meekly.

I hope Kacchan is okay, Izuku thought as he followed Aizawa into the elevator, trying to stay on his feet as the world spun around him.

Eijiro leaned back against the wall, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

Katsuki was curled up with his head on Eijiro’s lap, his favourite stuffie tucked under one arm. Eijiro’s cheek hurt, where Katsuki had gotten a strike in before Eijiro’s quirk had been able to protect him. Eijiro’s quirk was what made him able to be Katsuki’s caregiver, able to stand up to the worst of his tantrums. And today had been a bad one.

The walls were scorched, and even Eijiro’s hair was blackened. Eijiro had tried not to fight Katsuki, but eventually he had to protect the room from being set on fire. It was always awful, holding Katsuki down as he screamed threats and struggled and wept. But eventually, the tension had drained from his body and left him sobbing, and Eijiro had let his skin soften and pulled him into an embrace, Katsuki melting against him.

Katsuki had fallen asleep as soon as he’d stopped crying, and Eijiro had no idea what mood he would be in when he woke up: ready for another fight or craving cuddles and nostalgic cartoons.

Eijiro thought of Midoriya’s face, all red and wounded but trying to smile, waving away Eijiro’s concern and worrying only about Katsuki.

We can’t keep going like this.

Midoriya didn’t deserve the treatment he got from Katsuki, they all knew that, but there was nothing they could do. Katsuki turned on his friends just as fast, accusing them of taking the other side. Eijiro only knew bits and pieces of the pair’s history, and it had always disturbed him, but… it had never seemed like his business. Now he wondered if he should have put his foot down sooner.

Something was wrong with the two of them. Midoriya, all bloody and raw and waving them away with that innocent smile, as if he didn’t feel the pain at all. Katsuki, desperate for affection, screaming as Eijiro’s arms had wrapped around him, struggling until he was too exhausted but accept the simplest kindness of human touch. Constantly lashing out at anything that tried to help him.

Eijiro had always wanted to stand by Katsuki, but sometimes he found himself scared of Katsuki’s actions and where it would lead them. He wanted to believe that he would stand up to Katsuki if he ever went too far, but…

The image of Midoriya’s tear-streaked, smiling face flashed in Eijiro’s mind again.

How far is too far?

Eijiro closed his eyes and tried to push away all the big questions. He needed to rest so that he could be ready for whatever mood Katsuki would wake up in.

Maybe they could figure this out. Maybe he could ask for help, explain what’s going on. Someone else must know better than him. He was only fifteen, after all. How was he supposed to help, really? Why hadn’t anyone stepped in already? It felt like something was terribly wrong, but maybe this was normal. Was he worrying too much? Was he worrying too little?

Eventually, Eijiro managed to fall asleep like that, sitting up against the wall with his thoughts running in circles and Katsuki’s head resting softly in his lap.

#bnha agere #fandom agere #agere fanfiction #tw trauma #my writing #my stories #not a request for once!#tw self harm mention #i wonder if i should have a general tag for the darker stories i write?#i feel like tw trauma will cover most of them in a general sense #anyways #bnha #my hero academia

63 notes · View notes

tfw-no-tennis · 4 years ago

Text

animorphs!!!

ok I read animorphs when I was 10 or 11 I think? and I only read it once, along w/the spinoffs and stuff, and I've always meant to revisit it...SO HERE I AM....

and oh MAN I forgot how good this series is. like I knew it was good but some things from your childhood don't hold up yknow? especially books aimed at younger audiences

but oh boy does animorphs hold up. they're easy to read and perfectly balance the line between dark/adult topics and more kid-friendly lessons. excellent

so yeah I'm loving it so far. I forgot how fast some stuff happens lmao, like I forgot that tobias gets trapped as a bird in the FIRST BOOK

also I just adore how realistically disorganized/confused the animorphs are. like, they got the elevator pitch version of the conflict from elfangor before my mans got eaten, and also they're middle schoolers. of course they’re always just like ‘wtf do we even do’

so like...their plans mostly don't work. and even when planning they run into tons of logistical issues w/morphing, traveling, communicating etc.

and I love how they clearly need to maintain their normal lives as well in order not to raise any suspicion

and I like the little details like them not spending all their time together at school because they didn’t before so that would be suspicious

oh man and I love the different family dynamics in the series. you have jake, whose family seems pretty normal until we find out that tom is a controller, and rachel, whose parents are divorced, and who has to deal w/the complications of that. and then cassie, who is an only child (I like that we have a mix, with rachel and jake having siblings), and of course marco...

iirc marco was one of my favs (if not my fav, but its hard to choose) back in the day, and I forgot how reluctant he was to participate in the animorphs thing...and the fact that he was about to quit the team and then runs into visser 1.....

another fucked up little moment I liked - when they morphed dolphin and marco had to morph back to human bc he gets injured and he was like ‘I cant swim, and my mom drowned, I don't want to die like she did’ I was like oooof

also on that topic I adore how little the animorphs know about how anything works. like they once wondered if there's a limit to how many morphs they can acquire and they were basically like ‘idk guess we’ll find out’

and then when marco got injured as a dolphin and they were like ‘morph back I guess and hopefully you'll be okay?�� like damn luckily that worked

basically these books do The Most Excellent Job showing that these are just kids. like they're literally in jr high which is 90s speak for middle school....they're like 13???? at most???

and the narrative reflects that perfectly!! all of them, even rachel who is pretty much the most gung-ho about fighting and stuff, have nightmares and all these terrible experiences bc they don't have basically any guidance

and even with ax, it’s immediately obvious that he’s also just a kid, even though he’s this deadly alien....

also oh mannnn I love so much how we’re introduced to the andalites as this heroic race and how that slowly changes over the course of the story

like, when elfangor introduces himself as ‘prince’ you assume he’s part of the andalite monarchy - but later we find out that ‘prince’ is a military rank, and the andalites are a lot more militaristic than we would assume at the beginning

its so fantastic how it starts off as a fairly black and white conflict of andalites = good guy aliens and yeerks = bad guy aliens

and you even have some background stuff going on w/the taxxons being controllers by choice, and the hork-bajir being enslaved

but as the story goes on, all of those lines get blurred in different ways...

also ooof the poor hork-bajir. I always felt so bad for them. it’s crazy that even in the first book, the animorphs are killing their enemies - at least I inferred that in book 1, but it becomes way more overt later on...the tough situation of them knowing that the hork-bajir are unwilling hosts but that they’re so dangerous that not killing them could be fatal to the good guys

and ngl this time around I have a lot more sympathy for the yeerks, even tho they don't really deserve it (at least in the early parts of the story where I am rn)

like...they're just these blind helpless slug creatures, but they're also fully sentient and intelligent? like, that's so fucked up. imagine yourself as you are now, but you're just a sensory deprived slug swimming in a pool. that's pretty fucked. and then the fact that the yeerks are biologically made to be parasites...its kinda no wonder that they ended up the way they are (and it also makes stuff like the yeerk peace movement really compelling)

also wow I kinda forgot about all the body horror w/the morphing. like ik that's one of the things that animorphs is known for but like. I forgot how much it happens and how creative the horrifying descriptions are. I love it

and omfg so when I first read this series the ellimist stuff confused me a lot bc I didn't read the books That closely (I mostly wanted to see what would happen next) but I loooove time travel bullshit so I’m really enjoying it so far

even tho tbh I think even if I had paid more attention as a 10 yr old I still would've been confused bc the ellimist stuff is kinda just inherently confusing lmao

ok and I just love the characters,,,I love that the books switch perspectives, and KAA did such a masterful job of portraying differing and realistic reactions to their situation....like, all the animorphs react so differently to their circumstances, but their reactions are all so grounded in realism and also their personalities

like man I love rachel. she was one of my favs as a kid too bc I always loved female characters and she was just so cool. and she still is, and so excellently written too

liiiike the fact that even though she’s so tough and brave, she’s still a kid and has plenty of moments when she’s scared or uncertain...

and I just really like the fact that she out of all of them is the one who’s tough and loves to fight...and the fact that she also unapologetically loves shopping and stuff like that...its about the multifaced characters

just like how marco is the ‘funny guy’ but they make it very clear from the beginning that this is his way of coping w/shit like his family falling apart, and then alien BS

and also marco is really smart? I kinda forgot abt that (sorry marco) but I like that bc that's uncommon to see with ‘funny’ characters

oh mannnn and ax. I love ax. I forgot a whole bunch about the early stuff w/him and how conflicted he was w/keeping secrets from the other animorphs

KAA did such a fantastic job w/ax - he really comes across as the perfect mix of ‘fish out of water alien’ and ‘young teen/tween’ and ‘alien from a strict militaristic society who is in training to become a soldier like his famous older brother’

n that was so sad n fucked up when he called the andalite home world and had to tell everyone (including his parents) that elfangor died, and then the elders or w/e forced ax to take blame for elfangor breaking their laws in order to preserve elfangor’s postmortem reputation, even at the cost of ax’s career/life :(

and man I loved the part where ax is like ‘well, we didn't help the hork-bajir even tho we could have and now they're all enslaved. I'm not letting that happen to the humans’ and the council or w/e is like ‘well you should let it happen, don't interfere’ and ax basically realizes oh shit sometimes adults are wrong

basically I love the conflict there, where the andalites are the ones who gave the yeerks the technology that led to them spreading across the galaxy like a disease, and now fight to stop them due to their guilt, but also refuse to directly help the less advanced species who are being invaded by the yeerks for fear of making a similar mistake like w/the yeerks....

ooooof and the part where ax is like ‘guess I have to go fight visser 3 and die’ :( he’s just a babyyyy

and augh when alloran asks them to kill him....geeeez there’s so much fucked up stuff already and I'm not even in the double digits yet

oh my god and the brutally awful fact that any freed controller will just get tracked down by the yeerks and murdered so the secret invasion stays secret...and the animorphs think that by destroying the kandrona they've freed a bunch of controllers but really they just signed their death warrants - what a catch 22

oh and I love how even early on the yeerks aren't a completely unified force - we have the obvious rivalry w/visser 1 and visser 3, with visser 1 even arranging the animorphs release from visser 3′s prison bc of this, and that yeerk who told ax where to find visser 3 because he was pissed that his yeerk gf got killed by visser 3 - even though the reason she was killed was due to kandrona rationing, which was caused by the animorphs...i love the layers

ok what else. oh yeah I love tobias sm, he was one of my favs as a kid too, his whole story is so deeply tragic but also interesting and we haven't even gotten into all the stuff w/his parents yet

the part where he’s freaking out as a hawk and he’s gonna fly into the windows even tho he knows it’ll probably kill him...christttt

also tobias and rachel are so romance aughhhh

ok also jake - he was never my favorite when I was younger bc I felt like he had Basic Protag Man Syndrome but now I can appreciate his character a lot more. like, he basically got elected the leader and he’s kinda like ‘guess I have to do this now.’ and that of course ends up fucking him up majorly in the long run bc even tho he’s more serious and responsible, he’s still just a kid too

and I loooove the horror of finding out that tom is a controller, and jake having to contend w/the fact that it’s very likely that he’ll have to fight and/or kill his brother someday

also the book where jake gets infested w/a yeerk was one of my favs and still is. so fucked up and interesting. the fact that that yeerk was previously tom’s made it even more fucked, w/the yeerk taunting jake the whole time

and then the yeerk dying in jakes head...so messed up

omg and cassie too. I love cassie. I didn't appreciate her as much when I was younger bc I was a straightforward kid who liked action, and cassie is all about pacifism when possible and compassion, which I love a lot now that I Get it more.

cassie being such a gentle person but still fighting in this fucked up war bc doing nothing would be worse is super compelling. plus the conflicts with her having to figure out where she and humanity fit in the circle of life and whatnot is great

I loved the contrast of her being very aware of how nature works bc of working w/her parents and all these injured animals, but also being so compassionate that it still bothers her to see death and especially participate in it

like her feeling awful about killing the termite queen even tho its ‘just a bug’ and stuff

basically what makes the series great isn't that it’s got all these fucked up moments and horror elements and is overall quite dark - it’s that all of it comes together to make the point that war is hell, and child soldiers are gonna end up traumatized pretty much no matter what happens

it’s a very strong message, and the story never feels like it’s being dark just for the sake of being dark, but rather never letting the reader forget how awful things are

TL;DR: anirmorphs is to the YA genre what hunter x hunter is to the shounen genre

in animorphs, the heroes of the story are kids who get cool powers and get to fight aliens - in any other YA story they would have a bunch of fun adventures and come out on top most/all the time - things might get darker towards the end, but good would prevail. the evil yeerks would be stopped, and the main couples would get married and have kids and live happily ever after.

however, war isn't like that, especially when the soldiers are kids. so instead we get animorphs, and it’s brutally realistic. they barely ever get to enjoy their powers - on the rare occasion that they get to, something usually goes horribly wrong

compare to hxh - it seems like a regular shounen story about kids participating in a fantastical mostly-adult world and being able to match the adults bc they're Special - but as the story wears on it becomes clear that the kids are just very traumatized. this all leads to gon’s berserker collapse in the chimera ant arc, which is led up to masterfully w/a bunch of adults treating gon as an adult even though he’s a child.

essentially the same thing happens in animorphs - with jake being shoved into the leader role and becoming a military general as a kid, which leads to him committing horrific war crimes because he’s been put in a position no child should ever have to be in

similarly, kurapika has what would be a very straightforward revenge plotline in any other story - but this is hxh, so the bad guys aren't just 2-dimensional evil caricatures, and the road to revenge just leads kurapika to ruin. we root for kurapika to win bc they’re a character we like, but it becomes clearer and clearer as the story goes on that getting revenge is not the path kurapika should be taking

nothing is ever as straightforward as we want it to be, basically. and the same applies to animorphs. so many times they're faced with conflicts that seem to have an obvious answer, only for it to be revealed later that the choices they made led to other unforeseen awful consequences

ok i need to stop rambling this is already super long. basically: animorphs good. I’ll probably do another post like this semi-soon as I continue reading (I'm partway thru book 10 now)

#not me doing another liveblog that i probably wont finish #animorphs #lj reads animorphs

4 notes · View notes

benwontshutup · 5 years ago

Text

Why I Headcanon Jay as Autistc.

[NOTE: These are my personal reasons/headcanons for Jay being autistic. If you have any headcanons of your own please share in the comments! I’d love to hear them~]

[Edit: Had some spelling errors and missed text].

Jay Merrick has a lot of little qualities and quirks that make him a pretty odd fella. In this little ramble/post, I will gladly point out various things and personal headcanons as to why/how Jay Merrick could be Autistic.

First point: The hand thing. Jay does this thing where whenever he picks something up, he turns it around in his hand in front of the camera. (Note: While this was actually a method for the actor of Jay to clearly show what he had picked up to the audience, I would like to add onto this as a quirk. And you can't stop me). This can be seen as a quirk, a tic, or possibly even a stim.

The movement of his hand/repetition of this shows that it's something he does with nearly every item in the series, from tapes to pill bottles.

Second point: His lack of tact/not understanding personal boundaries.

Jay has this thing where he doesn't know when to back off, even if it's meant to figure something out to help others. From going into Alex's house and stealing a tape, to hanging outside of Tim's doctors office so he could catch up. As well as shoving a camera in Jessica's face as she’s freaking out about their lack of memories in how they ended up in that hotel.

Third point: Bad at lying.

Jay is a notoriously bad liar (and is caught rather quickly whether it be a few days or a few months). The first instance of this is not sticking to his cover story during the hotel arc (?) with Jessica; going from making a documentary on hotels to having to stay at the hotel due to house renovations. Another point is him telling Tim, when Jay basically stalks Tim, that he’s just trying to finish Alex’s film. This lie was sent down the toilet and a physical altercation occured between the two because Jay was dumb enough to title the channel he was uploading videos onto with the same title as the film. Nice going, Jay.

While this also could be due to memory issues (caused by the operator) it's strange to note that he doesn't stick with the first cover story as he would have seen it while editing the entries. But again, Jay can be very dumb....and forgetful.

Fourth point: Touches literally everything.

Jay likes to touch things, such as; a weird doll in a seemingly abandoned home, digging through holes to find old tapes that might not work, and the infamous one; blood, whether it be dried or fresh, Jay has to touch it. This could be another type of sensory thing, a way to make sure what he is seeing is really there or not so a simple touch to confirm his thoughts.

And now it's time for; 'personal headcanons'

Some personal headcanons I have for Jay being Autistic are the following;

1. Jay wears the same types of clothes every day due to feeling uncomfortable in anything else, regardless of the weather. Warm weather? Nope, need a long sleeved shirt, can't have skin being bristled by air or the other elements. Hat is needed for when he needs to feel protected. More layers mean a nice little hug of security.

2. Possible special interest in video editing/filmaking in general. Jay's a film student (duh) so films and or filmaking can be a huge special interest for him. This also goes along with editing videos. The repetition of the process of putting video and audio together (or whatever mess is on those tapes exactly, must be a nightmare to edit) can be calming and or stimulating to someone like Jay. Autistic people often pursue careers that cater to their special interests; an example of this being someone who loves numbers and is good at math becoming an accountant or having a position of organizing things.

3. Jay probably doesn't have much of an appetite, or at least dislikes most food textures in general. A lot of autistic people have same foods; foods they can and will eat every single day, or comfort foods; foods that bring an autistic person great comfort whenever they eat it [this might also go back to same foods, but I still don't know much about either. My comfort food might be pasta, it's something I could see myself eating every single day. The reason I'm not is because of A. cost, B. not enough pasta to cook, and C. my body would not like me anymore.].

4. Jay experiences sensory overload whenever the operator is near [though this could be said about everyone who comes into contact with it] and will shut down if he is not able to get away from it fast enough. During a sensory overload, autistic people will either shut down or have a meltdown; this is more or less feeling everything too much and the autistic individual having to let out all of those senses through various means whether it's injuring themselves or others.

5. Jay stims with the pocket knife that’s in his pocket, mostly having one hand on it and carefully running his thumb over the handle. He also stims by holding the camera, possibly a pressure stim. Jay also tends to flap whenever he gets too emotional, whether it be a good emotion or a bad emotion. Sometimes he’ll whistle, much like how a Blue Jay whistles.

6. Jay is usually sensory seeking. He accomplishes this by taking strolls through the woods, to hear the various wild life and leaves crunching beneath him. Other sensory seeking actions could be driving and watching things move past him. Sometimes it’s nice to see the various flashing lights of the streets and stop lights zooming by.

And this concludes my own little dump of information. Hope y’all enjoyed it!

#marble hornets #autism #autistic headcanon #jay merrick #aspergers #Ben rambles

43 notes · View notes

gyromitra-esculenta · 5 years ago

Text

Even If the Waters Rise 1/3

Talked myself into Mermay. But it’s Shadowrun based mermay with (something that resembles) plot. Mermaids are now metahuman, and, boy, do I have the issues with Sea Dragon’s design. It got 6k words on the first chapter.

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

(...)

Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure up and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.

He does. Looking with the usual neutral expression when Jack gulps for the air, the lingering vague memory of drowning but not sinking while something gorges itself on his flesh with little bites tearing him apart fading slowly.

(...)

Coming off the sedation after being cut was always a mixed bag. This time, though, the bustle of the street outside filters in slowly, rising like a wave over the ocean of static and breaking when the stims start doing their job.

The first breath is always the hardest, some kink in the lungs that kicks them into filtration mode each time the loss of consciousness occurs and demands focus from Jack to consciously switch back into the atmospheric intake.

"With us again?"

"You tell me, you're in my brain."

"Being obstinate will net you no points," Sombra mentally scoffs. "The pain?"

"No worse than usual."

"Arms up. Good, neural's working with no lag. And thank you very much for that kick, the legs are doing fine too."

"All?" Jack looks over the utilitarian metal surfaces of his limbs, the make and the model different from anything else he has seen on the market.

"Now, yeah," Sombra winces, pulling the plug out. She doesn’t need it but had told him once there were times she felt safer working with one. "For final calibrations, I need more data, so let's slap synthskin on those."

"What are they, anyway?"

"Scrubbed milspec, last year's model, or so I'd been told."

Sombra directs the assistant. Each applied sheet of layered synthskin gives Jack a lurch of unpleasant sensations before settling into annoyance, tension, and oversensitivity. A dance he's familiar with - a day or two before the brain puts a dampener on the sensory input when it integrates properly.

"I know why you're doing this for free, but why is he spending so much on this?"

Sombra flinches.

"The last batch you got rid of was worth more than those."

"It won't stop the demand, only the price of the meat went up."

"And the ability to process it for consumption went down. You know what's my take on it," she signs something on her pad. "Anyway, have fun tonight. I'll get in touch with you tomorrow to finish the calibrations."

"Not seeing much of a difference now," Jack pulls on his clothes, mindful of the temporary sleeves making sure the skin stays in place. "Tell me I won’t control and crush anyone."

"Implemented mental blocks. No limiters, so they can over-perform and get bricked, too."

"Taking bets on when I brick them?"

"Honestly!" Sombra throws the pad at him and Jack deflects it into the wall - looking back to her with a sheepish grin as it falls to the ground. "Too slow. Also, I don't want to see you in the professional capacity for at least half a year, but I'm giving you a month."

"Not very generous, and you're making me think you don't like it in my head."

"I don't, it's a jumble there since..." She stops herself, glaring daggers at the assistant who, granted with the rare ability to read the room, makes himself scarce - finding something urgent to do in the back.

"Since the glorified accident at work I don't even remember, seriously, five years, it's enough to stop treating me like I'm going to break about it." Jack pulls up the hood. Sombra's thinking about something, her brows drawn together in a worried frown.

"Aren't you curious?"

"Not really. Nightmares are a clue enough that something took out a lot of bites, and really, can't blame them, can I?"

"That's enough." She sends him a slightly nauseated look. "Scram now, have fun."

"Do you think he will tell me where he got milspec from?"

"He didn't tell me, so he's not going to tell you."

"But you've got an inkling how he got it."

"Maybe." She waves him off and Jack rolls his eyes, shrugging. Needling her for information has never worked before, anyway, and probably never will.

"See you when I wreck those."

"Fuck off!"

In less than an hour, there will be no trace left of her inside - and of Jack himself - the room is already being stripped down as he makes his way out of the basement up the concrete stairs with walls covered with dangerous amounts of mildew. Pushing past a corner stall encroaching on the doorway, he picks up a wrapped piece of barely seared meat waiting for him and waves his bracelet at the chit reader.

The air is wet and salty, like waves on the harbor, not even the smells of the market drown it out. The corners of his lips curl up at the thought tomorrow, or the day after, he'll be back out there, out on the sea, taking a dive into its depths, water everywhere, below and above, invisible current carrying him on its whims. Jack hails down the cab, the smile still on his face.

It remains there even twenty minutes later as he gets off by the hotel, both far too expensive and far too cheap at the same time. Too expensive for his own tastes, too cheap for Gabe to rent a room in it. Alas, here they are - and he sends a quick text.

'I'm coming up.'

Almost to the top, feeling vaguely claustrophobic in the humming elevator thankfully bereft of the usual muzak (apparently some taste did come with the money, but not enough for the interior to keep consistent style), he gets the customary message back. 'Open.'

Jack lets out the breath he's been inadvertently holding in when the doors open and he's left in the corridor, looking for the right entrance. A suite, of course, worth a chuckle as he walks inside, the only source of light the city's glow coming in through the windows.

And Gabriel, of course - again - standing with his back to the window, the only discernible features of his in the dim the almost glowing red irises and the white markings creating a vague outline of some animal face. Dramatic asshole, as usual.

"Show me."

The tone of authority and ownership demanding obedience - the order itself - coming from anyone else but the man who one way or another did own everything that made him, would have Jack snarling and pouncing whoever dared to speak to him like that. Hearing it from Gabe, though...

"Not even 'hi, how are you' or 'greetings, mortal'?"

Jack rolls his eyes, stripping down completely out of his clothes, leaving them lying on the plush carpet as Gabriel comes closer. Always smelling faintly of the deep ocean, or rather, of how Jack would imagine it to smell if it did.

Fingers dig around the edges of the sleeves on his shoulders, feeling the joints underneath, moving down to repeat the same around his hips. Synthskin sends confusing signals, not quite the pain yet, and a pinch of irritation.

"Looks fine."

"Will you tell me how you got your hands on last generation's milspec?" Gabriel ignores the question - no acknowledgment of it being asked even - as he's wont to do. Instead, he picks up a pillbox from the dresser. "I still got them."

"I know. You're dosing too low."

"Orgasm in a pill seems a bit too convenient." Jack massages the joint of his shoulder, moving to the bedroom. The carpet, probably soft on any other occasion, scratches his soles. "And a bit awkward."

"A fortunate coincidence of it interacting with your physiology."

"Yeah, coincidence. You're sure it's not another leash to keep me on?"

"If it were, you wouldn't be able to skip a dose. I'd make sure of it."

"I'm pulling your leg. I rather suspect you wouldn't do that, or would you?" Jack climbs the bed and props himself on the pillows - eyes focused on the single pill held between Gabriel's fingers, tracking it as he puts it in his mouth advancing - crawling over the covers, and Jack himself, with the grace of a predator playfully stalking a prey he knows cannot flee, the kill only a formality decided beforehand.

Drowning, always drowning in those eyes, black sclera and red irises blurring together into one, always looking too deep into him until he feels they don’t see him at all, his tongue brushing against sharp pointed teeth in an open-mouthed kiss, electricity traveling back and forth the nerves of phantom limbs with the speed of light coming to stop in a single burst leaving him breathless and shaking under Gabriel.

"Dutiful boy. You deserve a prize."

Jack chuckles at the first trace of any emotion in Gabriel's voice. The possessiveness is never truly gone, it's as much an integral part of him as are his looks, but there's a note of fondness giving Jack the incontestable impulse to almost preen: lower his lashes and incline back his head, hand sliding along dark red lines on Gabriel's arm.

"She's going to touch up off this."

"Are you worried about your privacy?"

"I'm used to having none with her. That was," he inhales sharply, feeling the bite on his collarbone, "for your benefit. I can see now you don't mind."

"I do not."

Jack merely snorts, rolling over and promising himself again to figure out Gabriel's trick with the clothes, there one moment and gone in the next, probably magic, but if he ever had any spark himself it was long lost with all the work done on him since the accident. Blunt as a troll's fist, this one.

Not that he has the ability to dwell on it while getting drilled into the mattress.

Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.

"Lungs are still giving you problems."

Bathed in the sunlight, Gabriel looks as striking as in the darkness - minutely less dangerous now, however surface and not representative of his true nature the impression is. Regal. Focused on the multitude of holoscreens floating in the air before him.

"No. Not really."

"You were choking."

"Only a bit." Jack stretches, still feeling relatively boneless and exhausted, sticky with perspiration, too tired yet to consider the shower to be a genuine need right now. He slips off the bed only to retrieve the wrapped meat from the pile of discarded clothes in the other room and climbs right back into it.

"It's almost raw," Gabriel mentions when Jack's well into a third of his snack.

"Yeah. I'm finding it's not that bad at all, all things considered. Are you going to comment on my obviously poor dietary choices?"

"No. I'm rather curious about why would you consume it raw." A note of amusement, rare as it is, floats in Gabriel's voice. Jack shrugs.

"Started as a fucked up way to get closer and understand them better, and it grew on me. Not like I'm doing it a lot, wanted to treat myself tonight. Want some?"

To his astonishment, it does take Gabriel's attention away from the screens, as if he's considering the offer seriously - not that Jack would mind - and he leans in, hand trailing on Jack's shoulder for a moment and coming away with blood on the fingertips. Which he licks off.

One of the bites must’ve opened.

"No."

"Shit," Jack chuckles, pulling knees closer to his chest, resting his arms on them, just looking. "Could you just tell me what you are?"

"No. Probably never will."

"Suit yourself then, Knife-ears."

Soon afterward, Gabriel disappears in the bathroom and emerges back fully clothed, the suit so plain and unassuming it has to be worth its weight in diamonds, at least - and leaves without a word. Nothing about it bothers Jack, really, that's the only way he has ever known him to be: someone who's either rich or influential enough to never have had to conform to any social standards so they're like an alien concept to him. If anything, it tickles Jack's ego, the fact Gabriel spends both money and time on him regardless of his inscrutable reasons for it. And even if the time is scarce, the money comes in sums so high Jack’s not going to bother trying to figure the specific amounts out.

With a sigh, Jack plugs into his own pad, trying to ignore momentary vertigo any kind of connection, even the shallow one, gives him - waiting for Sombra to get to him. If she wanted anything from him, she always found him the second he jacked in.

The mental equivalent of a giggle has him rolling his eyes.

"You can say it."

"Boy, did you get screwed silly."

"I feel like I got some of my brain matter fucked out, that one's a freebie."

"What the hell are you eating now? Feedback from your tastebuds is giving me shivers."

"You too?" He bites off another chunk.

"What are you eating?" Sombra repeats, the tone akin to the one used towards a pet that definitely got into trash or picked up something suspect on the way.

"Almost raw meat."

"Interesting," she says after a pause. "Anyway, I'm done."

Jack flexes the free hand, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times.

"Not seeing any difference."

"You shouldn't because I know how to do my job. Also uploaded keys to the blocks, the data on the job, and you've got incoming charter on the roof in five hours."

"So I do have time for a bath then," he hums, smiling.

"Knock yourself out, I'm leaving you alone, you get weird in water."

"Thanks, Som."

"No biggie." Her presence warms up before blinking out, leaving Jack to sort through everything she's left behind both in, and on the pad. Processing plant, the floor plans from several flybys, one drone shot down by a spirit, two points of entrance, Genji on the spot, Jesse and him coming from the water with a few hours to spare, full carnage.

Jack smirks, pulling out the plug. Just how he likes it. He moves to the bathroom, the alarm set for two hours.

The bathtub is nothing spectacular, at best a tight fit for more than two people - still a fancy one with an array of controls barely anyone bothers to use. He picks the temperature and plays a bit with oxygenation and flow. Jack lowers himself into the water slowly, the cold playing havoc on the still sensitive synthskin. The nonexistent heat regulation of milspec freezes his joints with pain. All par for the course as he exhales before submerging in full.

And then, he breathes the water in.

The surface breaks with the remnants of the air pushed from his lungs. It's a poor man's substitute for the real thing but the pressure and the dampened hum of the surroundings, however dissimilar to a swim in the ocean, bring his mind some respite.

Running down the pier barefooted with the warmth of the sun on his back - jumping - the whiplash of the impact - diving deep, to look back from below at the light glimmering on the waves, the rays reaching for him - the hands reaching for him from the depths and pulling down.

With the sound of the alarm, Jack jolts up to a sitting position, coughing out the water. Another bout gets rid of the rest of it from the lungs, and he changes the temperature. The bath heats almost immediately.

The dream changes, but the ending remains always the same.

Head leaning against the rim of the tub, before properly washing, he spends minutes motionless except for the occasional shiver until his core warms up. Remaining two hours Jack idles away eating a late breakfast and not really watching some show on the holo while sprawled in the bed still smelling of sex.

Moving to the pad grants him some suspicious looks he can't fault people for because he does stick out here in his clothes like a sore thumb - and then surprise as his bracelet lets him pass through the gate and into the waiting Osprey with rotors running hot. A waste to use the craft fitted for carrying almost forty personnel merely for him, but he's not the one paying. At least, there's room enough to stretch his legs and to think very hard on how much he's unafraid of flying, his stomach doing backflips as it takes off.

The fact the crash might have been involved had occurred to him long ago.

Fifteen minutes in, Jack gives up and reaches out to Sombra, for which she ridicules him mercilessly but keeps him company. Getting angry helps to take his mind off of how fucking terrified he is. Even if he could run fucking laps inside the cabin, the changing tilt reminds him he's in the air, and the moment Osprey touches down three hours later, Jack's out like there's a pack of devil rats on his heels, relieved to have solid ground back under his feet.

Jesse, holding his hat down against the draft waves at him. The coyote stitched on his serape seems to stretch and yawn with the fabric moving, probably does so in truth, but Jack can never tell.

"Lúcio's finishing on the sub, we're going to drink tonight, coming too?"

Jack looks to the harbor and shakes his head.

"Not this time. I'll check the gear and maybe go for the swim."

"Dude, no, not in this water, trust me. Too much industrial, and many critters out here. Best case, you'd break out in boils after a dip."

"Can't be that bad."

"Well, Lúcio says that a pyramid had been hit hard some months back, there's been some runoff and an uptick in critters. Really want to chance it with whatever's in the water now?"

"Guess not." Jack shrugs, walking away from the powered down craft towards the only building on the pier.

"So how's about that drink?" The coyote on the red cloth sits down and scratches its ear. If he were to associate Jesse with any other spirit than it, he would be hard-pressed to find anything fitting.

"Pass. Just don't get in trouble with the locals. Or old pals."

"Hey, don't bring up my stalker vampire ex, the next time I see 'er, I have a stake with her name on it." Jesse throws his hands into the air, pausing in the doorway, letting Jack pass him.

"You know it doesn't work on her."

"It will slow her down."

"If you manage to stake anything vital."

"Oh, I will, because this," Jesse points to himself with a wide smile, "is absolutely irresistible to her."

Jack laughs, eyeing the crates set up inside.

"Yeah, there's no accounting for taste."

"Dude, harsh. Anyway, that's yours."

"Everything's in here?"

"I wouldn't know, I try not to touch your shit," Jesse gives an exasperated sigh while digging in his pockets for a cigar, the coyote snapping at it as he puts it between his lips. "Well, see you in the morning, dude," he adds before turning around. Jack nods, moving his attention to the boxes and working his way through their contents.

The story behind the coyote Jesse tells is as outlandish as the man himself, and a question for the ages of how he wasn't rad-insane or sporting another head. Yet.

In the German wasteland (the only place on earth one could be a real cowboy anymore, Jesse insisted), drunk off two shit beers because his ex fed off him earlier, and high on some local shrooms, staring at the dying campfire, the coyote came to him and took him on the trip. Jack would gladly chalk it up to alcohol, hallucinogenics, radiation, and exsanguination, all working in synergy - if not for the hard fact the coyote itself was very real, and as helpful as it turned out to be an impediment, or a bother, the other half of the time.

Methodically, Jack picks out the gear - the rest going back to their crates - and then he double-checks the selection, looking for any identifiable problems and defects. When he's finished and satisfied, it's well into the wee morning hours. He drags a random deck chair to the end of the pier and lays down in it. The city, as small as it is comparable to the majority on the coast, doesn't sleep - there is no escaping the lights and the sounds - but in his chosen spot overlooking more water than the land he can doze off.

If either Jesse or Lúcio notices him gasping for breath as they finish loading the sub, they don't mention it.

"I'm not hauling your shit," Jesse gestures to the container Jack left outside, by his chair.

"Hi, man," Lúcio smiles. "Also, I dig your new set, what's the specs?"

"You'd have to ask Sombra for technicalities, I'm only using them." Jack stretches, there's a kink below his left shoulder blade he tries to work out by rolling it. Almost manages to, too.

"Cool, will do. By the way, he tried to throw hands only once."

"Dude. Squeal much?"

"It's called being the responsible one," Lúcio shrugs and Jesse groans in response, muttering something sounding suspiciously like 'don't need a chaperone'.

"Sub's all ready?"

"She's right up purring now, the lady she is." Lúcio's eyes light up. "Nothing left to squeeze out."

"I'll hold you up to it." Jack gets up and drags the container to the sub, the box grating on the concrete, and brings it into the cabin, pushing it behind the seats.

"Oh, man, do that, love to see the data after you push her."

"Will do on the way back. Jesse, inside."

"That wasn't me sleeping when me and Lúcio were breaking our backs," Jesse snarks sliding into the pilot's seat, knowing well Jack's impatience and what they will use the spare time for. He doesn't mind, usually.

"Good hunting, guys." Lúcio mock-salutes as the hatch seals.

Before they're out of the harbor and submerged completely, Jack's out of his clothes, save for the boxers. Despite the sub being state-of-the art, with two people in it gets hot inside in less than an hour.

He starts on the sleeves, peeling them off slowly.

The synthskin underneath is still oversensitive, but no longer tries to overload his brain with conflicting or extreme stimuli. It just feels like blanched with boiling water and any negligible otherwise touch almost painfully tickles.

"Kinda creepy, like a snake's molt."

"Note to self, I look better with my skin falling off my frame."

"Hey, I'm just stating the bare facts. Fuck, ew!" Jesse leans away to evade the sleeve Jack waves in his direction. "Dude. No. That's uncalled for. I'm driving, I could crash us."

"Into what?"

"I'd find something!" It's either a threat, a promise, or a commentary on the nature of Karma.

"Out of the two of us, I'm the one who can breathe underwater, so..." Jack lets his voice hang as he reaches for the pillbox he left on the shelf earlier. It's a short debate if he should take one because even if he could take them as he felt like otherwise, risking going into implant rejection on the job was far from reasonable. As soon as the aftershocks fade, Jack leans back into the seat, lazily watching the water on the screen.

"And that's also creepy as fuck," Jesse comments, sounding a bit more somber. "You look like you just got your dick sucked off, every time."

"Honestly? Feels like it, every time."

"And you know what makes it even fucking creepier?"

"You're going to tell me and I can't stop it."

"Because this shit looks goddamn miraculous and I may have helped myself to some," Jesse begins, waving one arm in the air and Jack mutters that of course Jesse fucking did, "and they fucking don't work. And you know what's in them?"

"Not that interested as long as they work."

"It's people, dude."

Jack sends him a blase look.

"And you ate it."

"Yeah, but I didn't go looking like I creamed my pants after that."

"It's for implant rejection, so it only makes sense it has reconfigured genetic material in it. Also, do not eat my drugs, it's people."

Jesse grimaces.

"Dude, you made it sound weird."

"I made you getting into my stash of pharmaceutical drugs you personally can't get high off sound weird?"

"Dude, it's even weirder now. How do you do it?"

"What?" Jack chuckles. "You mean, use my brain, sometimes?"

Jesse mutters some expletive under his breath and Jack closes his eyes leaving it without comment as the whole chat makes him revisit more or less cloudy memories of the first months he's spent either half-conscious because of pain, or half-conscious because of drugs and pain.

At least, until the pill, and the moment when the pain finally went below the...

"Amida Bongo Christ Almighty!" Jack turns immediately at the sound of the genuine panic in the voice to see Jesse try to become one with his seat, pushing back with his feet against the floor, pointing at the screen where a shadow in the water comes into focus, massive, gliding with deliberation. "Of all the fucking things to run into, the Sea-Fucking-Dragon... we're all gonna die."

Jack kills the engine in his stead and swipes at the screen, focusing the image. He can't deny his own heart is hammering in his chest when he lets out the sigh of slight relief while trying to ignore Jesse's doom-saying.

"It's not her."

"What?"

"It's not her. Doesn't look like her, and it's much bigger."

"That's supposed to help us exactly how!?"

"Take her five hundred to the left," Jack, already climbing over the back of his seat and almost falling in a hapless heap on the container in the process, barks at him. "I'm going out."

"Are you fucking serious, dude? Of-fucking-course, you are!"

"Chance like this isn't going to repeat itself!"

"A chance to get fucking eaten by a dragon?"

"That too!" Jack locks the airlock behind himself and fits the propulsion module as it fills with water. There's no time to wait for the slow pressurization. When there's no air left inside, he forces the emergency release, pulling himself to the outside, and pushes away from the body of the sub.

"Dude." Jesse, switched to the comms, sounds appalled compared to the earlier panic, which is considerably better for the situation. "Did you just lewd a dragon?"

"Maybe possibly." Jack smiles, cutting across at an angle. "Remember, five hundred, match speed, if I do get eaten, go silent and wait, rendezvous with Genji, do the site rep, and then decide what you do."

"You're literally the last person who should give orders."

"Next to last. You're even less qualified."

"True what they say, the truth hurts."

The dragon is massive, its form much more suited to the open ocean than what footage of Sea Dragon there is shows of her. He's yet too far to discern if it has limbs or only the fins. It moves with a misleading slow grace, the powerful twists of the wide tail propelling it forward. Getting caught in the vortex of the currents pushed with each beat could be - is - deathly dangerous.

Smaller shapes swim with it, congregating around the middle part of its body.

At first, Jack takes them for merrows, they're known to attach themselves to big predators and form codependent relationships, but it's the perspective lying to him. They're bigger, more agile, gleam occasionally with reflective scales. A brood of young, maybe? If yes, the endeavor is even more foolish than in the beginning, but even that won’t deter him from undertaking it.

Two of the smaller creatures break away from the formation as he gets closer and approach, their tails swishing wildly in the water. Mermaids. Mermaids traveling in a pack with a dragon. Not something he had expected.

They're coming both from the above and the below, a male and an older female, judging by the scars and veils, still colorful but ripped and missing pieces. It's hard to keep up with their rapid movements. Jack curls his hands and legs to his body as they circle him.

"Please, don't bite," he tells them. "There's almost no meat and you will probably break your teeth on me."

The mermaids observe him warily. The female chirps once and turns back, the male following in her tow. She's green and yellow, the pattern reminiscent of the stripes on a perch or other fish known to thrive in greenery. When no light catches on her scales she blends with the deep green agate hue of the water, but Jack wonders if she's maybe better suited to sargassum forests. Her partner, on the other hand, with his solid canary yellow, stands out like a sore thumb - at least until both of them gain distance and rejoin the group amid some agitation from the closest mermaids, the reactions playing out like a change of direction in a school of fish.

It's his first close encounter with live mermaids since the accident, and he has been judged as neither a threat nor a meal. In this moment, Jack feels some of the rush bleed away, allowing him to slip into simple sensations, focus on them, and appreciate them: the steady pressure of water against every inch of his skin, the additional tension in his scalp when his hair, however short, drag with each movement, the cold seeping into him from the inside, the weightlessness - even if he knows his limbs would pull him much further down.

The ocean is far from silent - never silent - full of sounds he can hear with his ears, and the ones he cannot - he hears with his whole body - the symphony of the dulled hum of static and single notes played on different instruments, not unlike the sounds of traffic in its structure.

His eyes drift back to the dragon.

It's foolish. It's not borderline suicidal, it's just plain old suicidal. And he won't let a moment like this slip like air between his fingers.

Hand on the controls of the drive, Jack resumes the approach.

The dragon looms closer, its body at least thirty meters long from the tip to the tail, probably more. He can now see its limbs tucked close to the underbelly - the fins reminiscent of underdeveloped wings.

He swims parallel to its head, advancing.

Bone-like white crest covers its front. The black scales, even if they seem to have an inner shine to them, appear to consume the light voraciously. The dark red lines streaking along the sides twist and mold with each move of the powerful muscles hidden underneath.

Jack's heart does not fit into his chest, so hard it hammers against his ribs from the inside - with fear, with excitement, with awe - and that's before the low rumble resonates within him as the dragon opens its eyes, one after another, five of them on the side he's facing - each an abyss of darkness ringed with glowing red slowly focusing on him: an insignificant speck in comparison.

"God. You're beautiful."

No. It was a worthless descriptor when applied to the apex predator wrought with raw power both physical and not.

Sublime.

The dragon disregards him - its eyes swivel to look forward - he cannot fathom expecting to keep such creature's interest for longer than this. But it's also an invitation, he's considered to be harmless, hence nothing to bother with, and Jack slows slightly while swimming up. Above its bulk, he notices some mermaids just clinging to the body, clawed fingers curled around the edges of the scales. Stupid, again, but he is going to try the same: hitch a ride on a dragon.

The thought is intoxicating, sends his mind reeling with unsuppressed glee.

He dives forward, his fingertips brush the hard surface - with caution he digs his fingers underneath the scale - the other palm he lays flat against it as the propulsion module switches off.

Jack pulls himself closer against the current, that rush of underwater wind. Never has he wished for his limbs back more than now, to touch and feel with his real skin, not even when the bones that aren't his anymore burn with that deep ache that sends all the thoughts skittering away with no control. Instead, he pulls flush against its body, forehead pressed into the scales, each contraction of the muscle below them felt intimately.

At the moment, he doesn't count time, not until another rumble, one he feels against his skin, makes him realize almost two hours have passed.

He looks back to see the mermaids otherwise swimming try to grab onto scales as it continues. In the front, what he took for vestigial wings - the fins - slowly unfold to reveal skeletal-like frame filled in with dark ethereal filigree straining on the currents.

It's a profound kind of sadness Jack feels loosening his grip. Drifting - falling - sinking - away.

The wings spread and angle. The dragon's back winds up like a spring.

Then it soars underwater, deep in the ocean, each beat of the wings carrying it further away into darkness.

The rush of water pushed by the dragon sends him spinning. Jack instinctively curls his limbs to his core to wait it out, losing all sense of direction in resulting vertigo. When it stops, it takes him a while to orient himself, the leviathan nowhere to be seen anymore.

"Jesse, it's safe to approach. Can you get to my signal because I'm fucking lost?"

"I see you," the response comes with a delay. "Coming from your general six. Dude, do you know how much is the footage worth?"

"It's worthless." Jack turns around with a few kicks.

"All would kill..."

"You can't put a price on it, it will put a price on your life." He can see the incoming lights blinking for his benefit as they draw near. "And you want to put out there a proof of a dragon that had remained away from the public knowledge until now?"

"Fair, even I'm not that stupid. I think. With the way you put it."

Jack swims towards the sub and grabs one of the railings, pulling himself towards the airlock. Minutes later, he climbs into his seat, dripping water everywhere.

"Got what you wanted outta that one? Besides getting eaten?"

"I think I've found god," Jack smiles, genuinely. It's a memory he's going to treasure, one unlikely to be eclipsed by any other in the foreseeable future.

"You going to be one of them dragon-worshipping freaks? I've heard things, and none good, I say."

"Not like that."

"So," Jesse turns his head to look at him. "You want to dick down a dragon."

"When you get down to it," Jack starts carefully, eyeing Jesse with a certain degree of suspicion, "yeah, basically."

"Heard about that one club you can meet one, violet eyes and..."

"I don't want to dick down a dragon, I want to dick down this one."

"Okay. It's important to have goals in one's life. I'm not judging."

It's at this point that something about a much earlier conversation occurs to Jack and he stills before covering his eyes with his palm.

"Jesse?"

"Mhm?"

"When you said you have a stake with her name on it... Did you mean your dick?"

Jesse raises his eyebrows, makes finger-guns with his hands, and goes for a pithy imitation of 'badum-tss' sound.

"You fucking moron." And Jack can only laugh.

#sometimes I write #reaper76 #r76 #mermay

8 notes · View notes

radioromantic-moved · 2 years ago

Text

minors dni under cut please please

anyway you guys may not have noticed since i haven't been like openly posting about it but based on the thing i said in my last promo and my fluctuating sexuality status in my carrd i'm like. having doubts about my asexuality and it's weird as hell. cause i think at this point this has been my longest enduring label and a part of me feels...idk. guilty! about changing it even though people following this blog knew me as bi and people following this blog knew me as cis (a couple of them at least) but even then i never actively denied the possibility that i could be a lesbian or nonbinary/genderfluid when those ideas came up. it was never "i'm bi, NOT a lesbian" or "i'm cis, NOT trans." it was more like "i'm bi, i think? but maybe i'm a lesbian." but asexuality was a thing i Definitely Was for a long time and i forgot how fucked up changing labels makes me feel.

it doesn't help that i always hated the "you're just a late bloomer" excuse especially because it IS used to hurt fully asexual people a lot and even though i'm still pretty young in the grand scheme of things i'm also starting to feel like. god. maybe i Am a late bloomer. like i'm still id-ing as gray ace right now because i definitely don't really engage with my sexuality in a way that's expected or viewed as "normal" by society but also i think there is attraction there i have just been addressing it the wrong way this whole time and i don't know how to feel about it like at all.

and i've been reading stuff written by stone butches and it makes me feel SO seen like. you're telling me i could keep my clothes on during sex? you're telling me i don't have to be touched at all? you're telling me i could Just be the one on top if i wanted? and that all makes me feel so good and so happy and sometimes i am actually able to look at myself in a sexual light, but then again there is still So Much that i need in a specific way and i'm pretty sure most of it's sensory stuff but it's issues that i don't see anyone else having. like i don't like other peoples' bodily fluids on me with the exception of tears or (sometimes) blood. pretty much everything else is my worst grossest nightmare and bodily fluids are like...a big part of sex. and i don't like dirty talk almost all of it feels like too much for me maybe i could handle like. back and forth praise but i kind of...barely want my sex to be sexual most of the time and who wants that other than me!!! and i don't even know if i id as butch which adds a whole other layer to everything

i might make an nsfw blog to work this out because i deal with a lot of things regarding my sexual and romantic feelings through fictional characters but there is this big part of me that feels like this is a betrayal somehow??? like i promised everyone this blog would always be totally sfw because i had no interest in anything sexual and now i DO but i definitely want this blog to remain a safe space for minors and i would hate if i did anything to make my mutuals uncomfortable and i KNOW this should primarily be about me but i feel a weird sense of shame about almost every decision i make that could even somewhat have an impact on other people and i don't like that but it is a thing about me that i don't know how to change. i hate how weird and complicated everything has to be all the time

#i feel guilty even Posting This on a blog that i promised to keep sfw #i have so many problems and issues CHRIST.#nyx on comms #gaugh been saving this in my drafts for a long time but now i'm having thoughts again

1 note · View note

alexandergarciahitegd-blog · 6 years ago

Text

First Journal for Web Design Spring 2019

1/18/2019

My History with Web-Design:

The first time I ever considered web design was last semester during the intro to design class where we were told to design one. It was horrible, I had no idea how to even approach it and ended up just throwing pixels at a screen until I technically put in enough work to justify turning the project in. I never even thought about websites before then as I always saw them as inconvenient mediums to whatever content I wanted. This reminded me of when I first started in graphic design and literally couldn’t tell the difference between Futura and Baskerville by just looking at them because of how new this field of design was to me. The panic of the oncoming slaughter that would be known as class 576 pushed me to research as much as I could into the field, especially in how to physically make the websites with code. I focused on code in part because of my experience in Adobe programs. Before I can make an illustration in Illustrator, I need to know the mechanics of the program so that I can work at the speed of thought without being stumped. I saw learning how to code as just the web design version of that, though to a certain point I think I was confusing being able to do whatever I want in the browser with being able to design things that are worth making.

I’m coming into this semester very excited for learning how to design for the web.

The First Project Process:

The assignment was to make a website focused on three things that were our favorites in a category of our choice. I may have misunderstood the prompt a little as I thought we were supposed to make a site to house three article listing three of our favorite things in three different categories, rather than one website acting like the article itself listing the three favorites in only one category that the website is entirely dedicated to. I started in my sketchbook before touching the computer just to get some ideas out before I jumped into the computer with no direction and find myself a deer in the Adobe RGB headlights.

Making the initial wireframe in Photoshop was not an issue, save for some elements that found themselves on the same layers as each other which made editing later difficult because moving objects in Photoshop is difficult when they’re sharing layers. I wrote the colophon in my notes as analog paragraph styles instead of trying to work with whatever nightmare Photoshop’s version of styles must be like. I eventually started doing the text in Photoshop to save me the trouble of having to replace everything from InDesign everytime I wanted to change anything, as per Michael Jared’s recommendation.

The problems I started having in Photoshop was when I started working with photos. Usually, I love using PS for photo editing and photo-comps but using it as a layout software is frustrating as each resizing requires manual rearrangement of everything on the page. Making things more difficult was the problem of multiple objects being on the same layer coming back, as they had different rules for how they need to move I needed to constantly code switch between the free objects and the layered ones.

After there were a few basic sketches done using shapes and a system of values to denote the difference between images, texts, and sections, I started populating the file with content, slowly phasing out the shapes. I’m embarrassed to say that the design decisions I made were solely based on the intuition that I don’t have. I decided on a landing page design of a bleed image with some big text over it because that’s what I see on all the web design Instagrams, which is pretty much the only place that I get around to seeing any web design examples for my still shallow internal visual library. The placement of the text and images in a strict and boring grid was based on instinct and my incompetence with working in Photoshop for this purpose completely stunted my ability to explore any other options.

The minimalism in my designs come from my instinct to remove anything unnecessary out of a fear that the alternative is just a mess of content and design elements that I wouldn’t know how to make work. I’m retreating into minimalism because I’m often at a loss for ideas, inspiration, and confidence. I think this has worked out for me a lot in the past as I understand the way to make low detailed content work is to make sure there’s more attention given to each piece of that content, but at the same time I don’t want it to be something I have to do, but rather something I want to do. There is also the issue that I often find my work to be very boring and derivative. The landing page above just reminds me of YouTube, the website that I’m on the most. During the wireframe portion of this design, I was feeling very confident in it and I loved the way it looked. That is until I realized how simple it was and reflected on how little exploration I really did. I fluctuate drastically between feeling overly arrogant and wondering how I could ever survive in this program, something that I expect a lot of designers could relate to.

The image above is of the splash page for the website.

The image above is the article featuring my favorite music genres. The part of the project I’m still mostly proud of was my work with data-bending. I love the process of designing procedural rules for how art should be created rather than creating the final product itself. I put images into Audition and edited them using soundwaves similar to the genres I was showcasing as my favorite to demonstrate how they look in the context of the image I used here with basic shapes and colors. What I wanted was to mix specific songs with the image to produce a more specific result. When I figured out how to do that the final product did not look very good because of hardware compromises I had to make. When I tried to use the image at the highest quality it was 1 hour and 45 minutes long, which meant the song had to be just short of that in length to be mixed properly. I still don’t know if this would work in producing something aesthetically pleasing, you never do until you see the result, but I would like to have experimented with that if my computer had enough RAM for the operation. It’s normal for only 1 in 10 images mixed with sound to look any good at all in my experience, which means experimenting many times in a short time frame is critical to using the medium effectively.

On Code:

I’ve been reflecting on my resistance to learning a bunch of new programs for future projects. I think a part of it is that I struggle to learn new programs through experimentation, but rather extensive tutorials that walk me through the sensory overload of icons, options, and settings. Before the semester I put so much time into making code the thing that I learned that I was a little disheartened to learn I would have to do the same for a bunch of other programs, but I think it will be fine. When I decided to learn code I promised myself I would never limit my design to what I could do with code, but rather learn how to do it later, and as long as I approach these programs with the same philosophy, then while it might be frustrating and time-consuming to learn how to do what I want, it should be more than doable since they are designed for web design, unlike Photoshop. Apparently, engineers think Photoshop is designed for this kind of work, they’re wrong and that’s why I’m not an engineer, that and I’m bad at math.

One of the things I did in preparation for this class was learn how to code. I started to do this because the idea of using illustrator and XD to make images of the idea of a website rather than actually making the website frustrated me and sounded like it was adding extra unnecessary steps. I was approaching code the same way that I approached any adobe program, it was just something I learned the mechanics of so that I didn’t have to learn while I designed or limit my designs to what I knew how to code. This is the same as in illustrator or Photoshop where I need to sketch out a design and hope that it’s possible to learn how to do in the program. The key with code, that I didn’t realize before I started learning it, is that there are almost no limitations or hoops to jump through. If I want to do something with the website, I just type it and it happens, and if that something is complicated then instead of spending an hour on google looking for a setting that lets me do in like is Illustrator, I just break it down into smaller steps and do it. It makes me feel like I’m no longer being limited by the technology when I code because it’s so clear what I can and can’t do.

It’s not that I think my first project would have been leaps and bounds better without Photoshop, I don’t mean to blame Photoshop for my shortcomings with the design, but there were some things that I simply couldn’t do because I couldn’t figure out how the makers of Photoshop wanted me to do it, such as changing the colors of shapes, and Google was no help on this issue. The other reason that coding has felt natural to me is how intuitive it is to start with nothing and build out. In the Creative Cloud, I am given every tool to use right when I open the program, and it’s information overload. I often have nowhere to start and in worst cases, I get genuinely claustrophobic because I don’t know what I’m looking at until I spend at least 10 or so hours being walked through the interface by tutorials. Coding is the exact opposite workflow. Instead of starting with everything and adding rules, slowly making everything more organized and follow those rules and hoping you don’t miss anything, coding starts organized and with every rule and restriction you could ever have because of the defaults, and I work at my own pace to slowly usurp those defaults and write my own rules for how the website should be. It forces me to set the foundations for the design and work out, rather than forcing every idea I have into one document like I tended to get myself in trouble doing in the past. It also forces me to keep the design structured. When it’s in code I feel like there’s a backbone to the site, and I’m building the body on top of it, as opposed to InDesign which feels like I’m just throwing pixels at a screen blindly and hoping that it works. My brain just responds better to the amount of control you get with coding things, which is not something I expected when I first started learning it.

The disadvantage of code is a significant one. The organization and the foundational nature of it does not lend itself well to exploration. If I want to change something fundamental about the design, then I would have to do a significant amount of reworking, whereas with Photoshop I was able to change the core design ad hoc until I liked it. I had very little issue doing my initial sketch, or wireframe, in Photoshop, and I think it’s necessary to start with sketching in a notebook and then moving to a sketching application. So, in an Ideal world I would do the sketching and wire-framing in my sketchbook and Illustrator, and then make the final version in code where I’m not limited to what Illustrator is okay with me doing. I am hoping that Adobe XD will provide the best of both worlds. Where I can change things on the fly without cutting and pasting a ton of text and hoping I didn’t make a mistake when doing so, which is what Illustrator provides and being functionally structured enough that I don’t get overwhelmed, which is the benefit of code. I intend to try coding my websites after making them in these prototyping programs to polish my skills in code and to boost my self-confidence, but I will not make it a priority until it’s time to make fully functional websites, at which point I’ll get Susan to teach me GitHub.

Wrap-Up:

As I said before, I fluctuate between being overly confident and feeling like there’s no way for me to survive in this program. When I was coming into this class I was in the overconfident stage, and after critique where I saw everyone else's work, I’m shifting into the other stage. Based on the work that I’m doing in this class and in Typography 2, I’m starting to feel concerned that I haven’t actually improved in the past 8 months or so, but instead just learned a couple of rules to make something look good despite not having a great concept behind it. Whenever I do something that I’m very proud of It’s usually an accident that I run with, which is an observation I’m not totally uncomfortable with. I know that I’ve improved at least some despite my doubts, and I’m proud of my ability to see the beauty in mistakes when I’m working that often leads to the final works that I end up being the proudest of.

I had a lot of plans of doing a ton of self-directed projects this semester considering I have plenty of time for it, but after a couple weeks I’m deciding to cut those expectations of myself down in favor of focusing much more heavily on my classes and developing specific side skills that I’ve wanted for a long time, such as the ability to code and draw. I’m also making it my goal to become more proactive on social media and build a designer presence there to the best of my ability. With all that and finally getting the new computer I’ve wanted for so long this weekend, I think it’s been an acceptable start to this semester.

1 note · View note